


When You Lose Your Breath

by lydiaforqueen



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Graphic Description, M/M, Suicidal Urges, Suicide, Suicide Attempts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 19:45:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4637919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lydiaforqueen/pseuds/lydiaforqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek saves Stiles life, more than once. A friendship blossoms, but does something more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Lose Your Breath

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a flurry of flying keys this morning after a dream I had last night. Please note that this story comes from a heavy heart, and I did not intend to make light of a very desperate and serious issue. If you are having suicidal urges or thoughts, please contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (US/Canada) at 1 (800) 273-8255, or see this [list](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines) of suicide crisis lines from around the world.

Derek is on his morning run through the Beacon Hills reservoir when he catches the most foul scent he’s ever smelled. He tries to ignore it, he really does, but curiosity gets the better of him and he follows the scent to the bridge above the water. What he sees next shocks the curiosity right out of him. A man, a few years younger than him, in a red hoodie is gripping the railing, his foot on the curb as if he’s about to throw himself over. Instinct takes over Derek and the next thing he knows he’s reeling backwards with a fistful of that red hoodie in his hands. The younger man turns around, his scent now angry.

“What the _fuck_ , man? Why did you do that?” He grabs the bottom of his hoodie and yanks it to straighten it out.

Derek begins to stammer, but nothing comes out of his mouth.

“Well, great. Now I have to try again later.” The younger man turns to leave when Derek finally finds his words.

“Coffee. Let me buy you a cup of coffee. Then maybe we can talk. Or...or we don’t have to talk at all. I just want to make sure you leave the reservoir safely.” Stiles scoffs.

“Why do you even care? You’re a stranger?” he asks, but he doesn’t decline.

___

Fifteen minutes later they’re back in Beacon Hills proper and at the local coffee shop, The Daily Grind. Derek orders a black coffee and lets the other man step up to the counter to make his order.

“It’s on me,“ he says. The younger man nods.

“Thanks, man. Uh, I’ll have a french vanilla latte with extra whipped cream.” When they get their coffee, he grabs a packet of raw sugar and sprinkles it on top of the whipped cream. “What can I say,” he’s sheepish now, “I have a like a little coffee with my sugar.” They walk to a corner with squishy chairs and settle in before Derek speaks again.

“My name is Derek.” He holds out his hand for the other man to shake. Instead, he just eyeballs him nervously.

“Well, hi. My name is Stiles.” Derek puts his hand back down and watches in a mixture of horror and fascination as Stiles scarfs down the whipped cream, then starts in on the actual latte. He sniffs the air and finds that Stiles’ scent is still a little angry but mostly filled with relief. He sighs. This morning has already been more eventful than he thought life in Beacon Hills should be, but at least he saved someone’s life. “Thanks for the coffee, but I have to go.” Derek is startled out of his thoughts and eyes Stiles cautiously, as if he thinks the young man is going to go back to the reservoir. “Look, I can tell what you’re thinking, and the only place I’m headed is home. I live with my dad, he’s the sheriff, I’ll be okay for today at least.” Derek just nods. “Okay, not really one for words I see. Well.....bye.” And with that Stiles is gone.

Derek just puts his head in his hands and mutters, “Fuck.”

___

It’s three weeks later when Derek is in the grocery store and smells the same acrid scent of desperation that he did when he pulled Stiles from the bridge. He whips his head around searching, until he finds the direction it’s coming from. Derek finds Stiles in the pasta aisle with an older man he recognizes as the sheriff, and he thinks about walking away but he doesn’t want to risk Stiles being in danger, so he approaches.

“Good afternoon Stiles, Sheriff.” He gives a quick nod in greeting. They do the same.

“Good afternoon, son,” the sheriff replies. “How do you two know each other?” Derek scrambles to think of a better reason than _well, sir, I stopped your son from killing himself_ when Stiles chimes in.

“We met at the coffee shop a few weeks ago.” It’s a smart answer, smarter than what Derek almost blurted out. The sheriff just looks at the two of them like he doesn’t believe it entirely and goes back to looking at the rigatoni.

“Excuse us for just a moment, would you Sheriff?” Derek asks, and gently takes Stiles by the elbow and leads him out of earshot.

“What’s going on?” Stiles looks suspicious and his hands are twitching like he wants to fidget but is trying not to.

“You just.....you smell like you did the other day, at the bridge.” He doesn’t know what he expects, but Stiles’ response is not it.

“I always feel like that. Ever since my mom died. You learn to get used to it, though. The other day was a fluke.” Derek’s heart drops to his stomach. Stiles _always_ feels like he wants to die? He can’t imagine living like that. “But I’ve got to go, dad’s waiting. If you want to find me later you know what I smell like.” And that saddens Derek even more.

“Wait,” he calls out. “Let me at least give you my number. In case you ever need anything.” Stiles turns around, suspicion on his face again. “I mean it. Anything, ever. Just call me.” Derek pulls out a business card that his editor made him buy and in this moment is grateful for that. He hands it to Stiles who takes it with a smile and then walks back to his father.

__

It’s not even four days later when Derek’s phone goes off in the middle of the night. He rolls over, sleepily groping for his phone. When he answers it’s Stiles.

“Derek. Hi. Um....sorry to call you in the middle of the night?” He can hear Stiles’ tears through the phone. “I just didn’t have anyone else to call. My best friend is out of town this weekend and my dad is working the night shift so, please, can you talk me down?” Derek agrees.

“I have a better idea. Let me pick you up and take you to the all night diner. It’ll be better than you being alone.” Stiles agrees, verbally this time, and gives Derek his address. Ten minutes later Stiles hears a knock on his door. He pulls on his flannel and runs down stairs. When he opens the door, he falls into Derek, still crying. Derek doesn’t quite know what to do, this isn’t exactly a hug, but Stiles must need comfort if he’s burying his face into a barely known person’s jacket. He puts his hand on Stiles’ back and tries to take his pain away. He knows it works for physical injuries but he’s never tried it for emotional damage. It works, and Stiles backs away, his wet eyes staring directly into Derek’s own.

“What did you do?” he says between sobs. ‘’I mean, my best friend can take pain away, but can you take my emotional pain away too?”

“I’ve never actually tried before now.” He points at his car and smiles. “Now how about late night bacon.”

___

They start hanging out more after that, outside of Stile’s episodes. Derek finds that Stiles has a dark sense of humor, that he loves comic book movies, that he is incredibly insecure and doesn’t realize how great he actually is. Stiles finds that Derek is an author, that he loves Greek mythology, and that he has the most amazing eyes on the planet. He keeps that last bit to himself though. Then one night it gets bad, and Derek finds himself banging on the door to the Stilinski house, trying to get to Stiles. The last thing he had heard was, “I’m sorry, Derek. I just can’t do this anymore,” and then the line was dead. No one was answering the door, and he didn’t see the sheriff’s cruiser in the driveway, so he went around the side of the house and looked for open windows. The kitchen was unlocked luckily enough, and he raced inside, scrambling up the stairs before finding Stiles in his bedroom on the floor, an open bottle of sleeping pills next to him. Stiles looks at Derek groggily before smiling. “An angel, come to take me home,” he whispers, before falling sideways onto the floor. Derek yanks him off of the floor and hoists him over his shoulder.

“We are not doing this. You are not dying on me, not tonight, not ever.” When they get to the bathroom he puts Stiles in the tub. “Come on, we’re throwing these up. One...two...three.” On three he shoves a rough finger down Stiles throat, keeping a check on his own gag reflex. Stiles heaves a little, but nothing comes up, so Derek tries again. This time Stiles lurches forward and begins to vomit, his puke littered with little blue pills. “Fuck, Stiles.” Derek feels a hot tear slide down his cheek. Stiles begins to cough and utters out a single _Derek_ before fainting. Derek cradles him in his arms, vomit and all, and rocks him gently. “Please don’t die on me. I...I love you.” He knows Stiles won’t hear him, but just saying the words out loud for the first time grounds him. He knows he has to take care of Stiles, and he will for the rest of their lives if Stiles lets him. After a few more minutes he knew he had to clean Stiles up. He found a wash cloth quickly and then strips Stiles of his shirt and pants, then places them on the floor next to the tub. He turns on the water and wet the cloth before he begins to gently wipe Stiles face and body. After he was clean Derek picks Stiles up and carries him to the younger man’s bedroom, where he delicately tucks him into his covers. “I’ll be back, I promise.” Derek said as he places a kiss to Stiles’ forehead. Then he leaves through the window.

The next morning Stiles woke up with a raging headache and an excruciatingly sore throat. He groans as he rolls over, only to see a sleeping Derek in his computer chair. Very quietly he lets out a “psst” to see if it would wake Derek. It does. As Derek wakes and they locked eyes, both try not to cry. It had been a very emotional night for everyone involved.

“Good morning,” Derek said as he stood and stretched.

“Good morning,” Stiles replied shyly.

“So what do you remember from last night?”

”Not much. I remember us talking, then I remember taking the pills, then I think I imagined you coming into my room, although if you’re here then that part is probably true, but after that it’s a blur.” So Stiles never heard his confession. Derek was partially relieved, partially saddened. But there would be a time and a place for that. Now was not it, though. “I think I need to get some help. I’m serious about it. I was always afraid to ask for help before because I thought it was all in my head and I didn’t want to be ridiculed, but I really need help.” Derek nods.

”Just know that I will be here for whatever you need, whenever you need it. I can help you find a therapist if you’d like.” Stiles says he would like that, very much so.

“Let me get dressed and then maybe we can grab some coffee and look at therapists on the internet.” Derek turned away as Stiles got dressed. He knew they would be alright. He knew he would continue to love Stiles through all of their ups and downs, through everything Stiles was about to uncover. He knew that he would get the chance to properly tell Stiles how he felt, and he knew that Stiles would love him back. Stiles held his hand out, marking the first time they would ever hold hands, and said, “So....are you ready?”

Derek smiles and replies, “Yes. Yes I am.”


End file.
